Archive of Our Own ^beta

Wrathion paced behind the throne, back and forth, counting each step to make sure he took the exact same number in each direction. It gave him something to focus his mind on, away from the confusing jumble of thoughts and feelings that's been plaguing him lately. He kept his eyes fixed downward, on his human feet, and his shoes. A little boring. He'd been wearing the same outfit in his visage for so long that maybe it's time for a touch up. A bit bigger than a simple pair if earrings, even if he loved the way the gold looked against his skin.

He didn't stop pacing even to the flapping of wings, and the short but distinct burst of magic as someone shifted forms beside him.

"There are easier ways to make it to the lower levels," Sabellian said, his tone lighter than usual, but that attempt at humour did nothing to slow Wrathion down. He frowned. "What... exactly are you doing?"

"Thinking." Or trying not to, however difficult it's been.

"And this," he waved a hand in his brother's general direction, "is helping?"

"You'd be surprised."

Sabellian stepped in Wrathion's way, only to be walked around. "Look, if something's bothering you, I'm here to listen." With the only response being the other dragon looping around on his path, he grabbed his arm to halt him.

Wrathion shuddered, trying to pull away. "Let me go."

He loosened his grip, but did not release him. "I want to help. I realise you... never had family to talk to before. Dragon family, at least. I'm here now."

There was a pause, and the younger dragon then shook his head. Being held like that burnt in some way he couldn't quite describe, prickling his skin even through layers of fabric, as if Sabellian snatched his arm with sharp claws and not human fingers. "I'll be fine." He just needed to find a bottle of wine. Two, maybe. It's helped before.

"You're trembling." A short and direct statement, cutting right through Wrathion's facade.

"... I said I'll be fine.” His tone was so weak he couldn't convince even himself. "It's not something I talk about. With anyone."

Finally, the hand released him, but he didn't resume his pacing. His brother's eyes were fixed on him, the frown less of annoyance and more of concern. Titans, this stubborn old dragon truly did grow to care for him, and was actually beginning to show it. It was so unlike him that Wrathion couldn't bring himself to meet his gaze, but its weight compelled him to break the silence.

“I have a. Need.” He swallowed loudly.

Sabellian raised an eyebrow, but his expression softened almost immediately into a smile. “Oh, I see. It’s entirely natural, and there’s ways to take care of it-”

Wrathion raised a hand to stop him mid-sentence, letting out a quiet grunt to cover for a blush creeping up his cheeks. “Don’t. Don’t patronise me, I’m not that daft.”

“Then what seems to be the problem?” His tone was gentle, his smile unchanging.

Wrathion’s throat worked. He struggled to find the words; he’d never described that particular predicament out loud, to anyone. His brother was close enough for him to feel the heat, so much stronger than that of a mortal, so much more welcoming. It was increasingly difficult to focus, and the little voice in the back of his mind that should tell him to back away was nowhere to be heard.

“It’s not just- that. It’s a need to-” He struggled to push the word past his lips. It tasted bitter. “Breed.” There was silence, heavy and – ironically – pregnant, awaiting further explanation. No word that followed proved any easier to say than the one before, forcing Wrathion to avert his gaze and fix it on the stone floor. "The experiment. It made me different in... more ways than one." Deep inhale, deep exhale. "At least one of the... components, the parts that were made into me, must have been female."
He looked up to see Sabellian staring. He swallowed. "I present male, I feel male, but I'm. Both."

"No, I understand that.” His brother’s tone was still soft. “But that bothers you this much?"

Shouldn't it?, Wrathion wanted to ask. Or, why doesn't it bother you? Instead, he said: "It does now.”

“Oh, Wrathion." Sabellian smiled, his hand brushing against the other dragon’s cheek.

He flinched away, another shudder running through him. It wasn’t just the touch, either. There was something different about Sabellian, or perhaps something he hadn’t noticed before, assaulting his senses on a level he couldn’t put a finger on, but one that shook him to the core. Like a scent; he didn’t smell anything, more like sensed it, was made acutely aware of his brother’s presence. Powerful, intimidating, sexy presence.

"There are more efficient ways to handle it than walking it off,” Sabellian whispered, almost nose to nose with him.

When their lips met, Wrathion didn’t resist. The kiss tasted sweet. He let himself sink into it, submitting to the other dragon’s lead. Sabellian was forceful, but not rough, giving him time to adjust and welcome the tongue inside. Against it, Wrathion felt almost ashamed of his inexperience, dwarfed and overwhelmed, responding clumsily and with no clear direction. He tried to mimic what was being done to him, gripping Sabellian’s robe to stop his hands from shaking.

Fingers snaked under his shirt, surprisingly soft and gentle. He couldn’t imagine how it would feel to be grazed by sharp scales like this. Humans certainly had it easier, and having been hatched and raised among mortals, Wrathion got used to thinking of himself as one of them, on some subconscious level. Having no idea that there still had been a black flight, he hadn’t expected to ever mate with a dragon. And the thought scared him.

“Should we-” he breathed, pulling his head back as Sabellian’s lips traced his neck. “Should we change form…?”

“Our father’s throne was made for a visage.” Sabellian’s voice was deep, husky, and heated with arousal that rivalled Wrathion’s own. “And I believe you wanted to sit on it?”

Their father’s. With gloves and belts gradually making their way to the stone floor, it had slipped his mind that he was, in fact, being touched by a blood relative. A dragon he considered his brother, even though neither of them could be truly certain what kind of bond they shared, what with Wrathion being hatched as a patchwork of multiple lives. It shouldn’t be surprising that he found himself in this position, though, sharing kisses with one of Neltharion’s firstborn. In all likelihood at least one of the parts that resulted in him – or perhaps even all of them – has been a child of Nefarian and Onyxia, the cursed siblings that sought to rebuild their flight. And if not them, then their children, or their children’s children. Wrathion had been stitched together from beings born of incest, of one degree or another, and it seemed that he could not escape that legacy of his people.

It was so much simpler to just say Neltharion sired him.

“What do you want to do?” was whispered in his ear.

Trembling, Wrathion gripped the skirt of Sabellian’s robe, trying to pull it up without much success. His muscles failed him, unable to channel his excitement properly. Or maybe it was his brother’s – lover’s – overwhelming scent. Was he reacting to Wrathion’s hormones, or has he been lusting him before? “I want to see your body,” he managed to find the words. “I want to- to please you.”

Without a word, Sabellian tossed his robe aside, presenting to the other man in all his glory. He wasn’t as toned as Wrathion had expected; as a mage, he wouldn’t have need to build muscle, so his visage must have reflected that aspect of him. The dragon exuded confidence and authority, a mere glance enough to bring his brother down to his knees.

Wrathion took a moment to stare at Sabellian’s cock, already hard and so very inviting. He had no frame of reference, no experience to compare it to, and he couldn’t have been happier. All he knew was that he wanted it. He wanted it, that specific cock, to be his first, to fuck him silly and breed him till he’s full of eggs.

He bit his lip. He’d never been these direct with himself, nor this filthy in his fantasies. It must have been the heat – do dragons even go into heat? He’d never found the courage to ask anyone – and what undoubtedly was the other dragon’s pheromones influencing his mind. And he found he couldn’t care. He needed to fuck.

With a hand wrapped around that cock – beautiful, rigid cock – he gave it a few tentative strokes, revelling in the little twitches it gave in response, and his brother’s delighted sigh. The shaft responded with eager twitches, fluid beading at the slit that looked just so very inviting. Wrathion swallowed, his throat dry and demanding a drink. There was one right there for him, slowly starting to drip into his hand. That would not do. He licked it up, not wanting a single drop to go to waste.

It tasted of nothing, yet still he could not stop running his tongue over the tip, head spinning as he lapped up every last drop. Only in his wildest dreams had he imagined putting his lips on a man like this, in visage, and never expected it would be Sabellian’s. That his brother would be the first he’d ever taste. And he liked it, all of it – the taste of skin, the scent of arousal underlined with sweat. There was a lingering heat in that cock that he suspected he wouldn’t get from anyone but a dragon. How hot would the sperm feel inside him, then?

He couldn’t wait to find out, his brain struggling to pick whether he wants it on his tongue first. No, a voice screamed at him from the back of his mind. He needs as much of it as he can in his pussy, for the eggs. Who better to give him children than a strong male that already had a clutch of his own?

Sabellian’s hand caressed his hair gently, guiding him along the shaft. He followed obediently, learning as he went and listening to each command, said in a heated, ragged breath. Suck his lips in to cover his teeth. Move his tongue around a bit more. He trailed a throbbing vein, gripping the other man’s hips for support as his own legs felt weak under him; even though he was sitting, he feared losing balance under the strength of his own arousal. His pants must have been soaked right through.
He was forced to withdraw with a careful but firm pull in his hair.

“You’re such a good little slut…”

Wrathion felt an urge to wag the tail that wasn’t there. “Did that feel good, then?”

Sabellian pulled him up to his feet, claiming his lips in a deep kiss. “Drop those clothes and I’ll show you…”

He’d never gotten naked so fast in his life. His own cock stood proud, though incomparable to his newfound lover’s impressive size. The chilly air made the moisture running down his legs so much more apparent, only further fuelling that nagging, burning desire to feel the heat of a body against himself.

“You’re so beautiful…” Sabellian all but whispered, planting soft kisses on Wrathion’s exposed neck, his hands running down the younger dragon’s sides. Strong hands, making him feel secure, like nothing could ever hurt him as long as they remained wrapped around him. The touch was tender, cautious, exploring the surface of his skin like he was a work of art. At that time, he felt like one. He felt treasured. Loved.

He leaned against the back of the throne, resting his palms against it to keep himself upright. His entire body was trembling as the kisses travelled lower, through the forest of hair on his chest towards his abdomen, just barely missing his erection.

“Please…” he breathed.

His brother looked up, lips curled into a smirk. “Please?”

Wrathion wasn’t sure which words to use out of the millions rushing through his head. How does one beg for this sort of thing? He settled on what sounded simple. “Please let me feel your tongue…”

It was soft and warm and wet, sending shivers up his spine with every slow lick. Sabellian worked deliberately, taking his time tracing the length, his hands rested on Wrathion’s hips to keep him steady through the tremors. Every now and then he paused to push his tongue between the folds of skin below the cock, parting them, lapping at them before moving back up. It was a new sensation to Wrathion, alien and so different to everything he’d done to himself, and it immediately became his favourite. He gave into the tremors, held upright by his brother’s hands and the throne behind him. He gave in to his own voice, escaping in loud moans and whimpers and gasps, and to the pressure of his breath escaping with force he’d never felt before.

“You’re delicious…” the other dragon said in between his ministrations, a deep blush colouring his cheeks. He looked beautiful. So mesmerising that it distracted Wrathion from the fingers spreading his lips and teasing his entrance, as if testing the waters. Almost literally. He wondered just how wet he must have gotten for them to slide that easily. Up and down, back and forth, and finally inside.

“That’s good…” he breathed, struggling to keep his eyes open through the pleasure. The sensation was different to when he’d do it himself. More intense, somehow, surely because of who got to probe his deepest parts. A prelude to the main event, a promise of what was to come. Titans, he couldn’t wait.

Sabellian kissed his belly, fingering him gently but deliberately. “You’re very tight… I need you to relax for me, love…”

That word echoed in Wrathion’s mind, bouncing off some deep corners he hadn’t known existed. Love. Someone loved him, someone wanted him, and all he had to do was let that beautiful man in. Scrambling for what little focus he could muster under the scent of his partner’s arousal and those overwhelming, intoxicating pheromones, he forced his muscles to stop clamping every time the fingers curved within him.

“Like that…” the other dragon smiled up at him, then gave his demanding cock a slow, rewarding lick. “That’s better. That’s a good boy.”

He shook his head. “I can’t…” He wanted to be a good boy. He wanted to do whatever his mate wanted, but his body failed to keep up. The heat was becoming painful, the need to be bred overtaking the last shreds of coherent thought he’d had. “I need you, please…”

Before he knew it a pair of strong arms lifted him off the floor and carried him around the throne, only to drop him right onto it. Finally, finally Wrathion got to sit on the throne of his people, to claim the legacy he’d been yearning for, and yet it was not to rule. It was to be ruled. To be dominated, to be owned and made into nothing but a breeding bitch. In that moment, he wanted nothing else, spreading his legs as wide as he possibly could, swinging them over the armrests. With his pussy on full display he should have felt cold, but was warded against the chill – and the world – by his brother’s imposing frame inches above him.

When their lips met again, taking his breath away, he had barely enough presence of mind to register the hardness pressing against his nethers. Sabellian’s cock moved over and in between his lower lips, sliding with ease over the torrent of fluid drenching them both.

“Please…” he whispered, arms wrapped around his brother to keep him as close as he could.

Slowly, the shaft breached him, the pressure alien but not unexpected. There was no pain, and whether it was due to the pheromones influencing his mind or how wet he’d been – which, in truth, was due to the pheromones – he didn’t know nor didn’t care. The notion of having a cock inside him was enough to make him see sparks, his eyelids too heavy to keep open. His heart beat madly, on the edge of bursting out of his chest.

And then Sabellian started moving.

The strokes were slow at first, showing restraint Wrathion couldn’t even bother to look for. With his lips refusing to obey him he could only gasps and whine and kiss that beautiful man, thanking him for the blessing of making Wrathion his mate, begging to be fucked full of eggs.

“You have such a tight little cunt…” Sabellian whispered into his ear, exhaling. “Good boy…”

In response, he could only whimper out a string of yeses and pleases. Every time that shaft dragged inside him, his breath caught in his throat. When his brother’s hot lips brushed against his skin, anywhere, Wrathion felt himself shudder and tighten around the invading shaft. The pleasure from it all blended into a single sensation, jolts of electricity bending his spine and dancing on the tips of his fingers. He could only hope it felt just as good to his lover, but judging by the steadily quickening pace, the heated, ragged breath, and the overwhelming scent of sweat and pheromones, it almost certainly did.

“What do you want?” the older dragon said, managing to catch his breath for barely a word at a time. “Tell me.”

Wrathion struggled for words to voice what his mind screamed at him, but not because they were difficult to find. His throat felt tight and his mouth so dry it almost hurt to force them open to speak, but once he did, he found that it was easy to vocalise all the filth he’d been pretending was not there.

“Your come,” he said, fingers digging into Sabellian’s back as he fought to keep the man close.”I want you to- to fill me up. Make me your mate. Give me your children.”

He was answered with a satisfied grunt, a gentle bite on his neck, and rhythmic trusts as hard as their position allowed them to. His own cock kept brushing against Sabellian’s belly, the sensation rough almost to the point of pain but not quite past it, turning Wrathion’s moans into cries, forcing his back to arch under the other dragon until he finally, mercifully erupted between the two of them in streaks of liquid heat. That same heat filled him, assaulting his senses from inside and outside, as if he was going to melt in the other dragon’s arms before they came down from their shared high.

With arms wrapped around him tighter than he’d ever been held, with his legs twitching from the strain of their position, Wrathion felt like melting would be the most welcome fate. In the moment, he wanted nothing more than to stay where he was and never let go. He inhaled Sabellian’s scent as his breathing gradually steadied, the fragrance sweet and pleasant, though no longer as intoxicating as moments ago. Which could not be said for the kiss – deep yet gentle, loving yet demanding. This man, this powerful dragon, now owned him whole, and Wrathion was thrilled to submit.

There was noise around them, but he paid it no mind. Whoever walked in on the scene had enough sense to keep quiet; you don’t disturb dragons in heat unless you have a death wish.

Sabellian finally pulled away, making him feel both empty and cold, despite the come all but scalding his skin and insides. He felt some start to seep out of him, and had to resist the urge to close his legs to keep as much of it in his pussy as possible. It wouldn’t make a difference at this point, and he didn’t want to rid his brother of the view.

“Beautiful…” His lover smirked, admiring the fruits of his work. Well, not literally fruits. Those would come later. Wrathion’s heart skipped a beat at the thought that a clutch would grow within him before long. His very own eggs. The children he’d always wanted.

He sat up as if struck by lightning and claimed his brother’s lips in yet another kiss, pressed against him fully. “I love you.”

He meant it.